


Self Care Isn't Selfish

by SWLBarnes



Series: Supernatural Imagines [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caring Reader, Cuddling, Cuddly Sam Winchester, Fluff, Not Beta Read, Other, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Sleepy Sam Winchester, Worried Reader, gender neutral reader, reader cares for sam, sam wont take care of himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 10:49:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18602998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SWLBarnes/pseuds/SWLBarnes
Summary: Sam has been working himself too hard recently, and the reader has had enough of it.





	Self Care Isn't Selfish

**Author's Note:**

> I was messing around on ambient mixer and ended up making a little "resting with sam" atmosphere, so I wrote this while listening to that. Listen to the atmosphere here if you wanna! https://supernatural-series.ambient-mixer.com/resting-in-the-bunker-with-sam  
> Also, please pay no mind to the awful title. I absolutely hate titling works. And once again, I don't have a beta, so any mistakes are my own!

All it took was one more yawn from Sam for you to make up your mind. Just one.

For days now you had watched the younger Winchester continue to push himself past his limits. The hunts had been nonstop for weeks now as Sam repeatedly threw himself into his work with no mind for his own well being. Only within the past two weeks had you noticed the biggest changes, specifically in his sleeping and dietary habits. Your shared bed with the man had become too large as of late, too cold in his absence night after night. Each time you would wake up and find the other side of the bed empty, you would pad out the door and down to the library, where you would always find Sam with his face buried in another old lore book. Your pleas for him to come back to bed with you were always brushed off as if they were nothing, him constantly insisting that he was okay and he was getting enough rest.

“I’m fine,” he would insist, the slur of his words a clear indication of his drowsy state. “I’m a hunter, I’ve worked on less sleep than this before.” 

He was lying. You knew it, Dean knew it, Castiel knew it, and surely Sam himself knew it. What was causing him to act this way you couldn’t say for sure, but whatever it was, you wanted to stop it in its tracks. His newfound habits were taking quite the toll on him both physically and mentally. Yourself and the Winchester brothers weren’t exactly known for having the most well rested faces in the world, but the dark circles taking residence under Sam’s eyes were worrying even to you. His body slumped far more than it usually did, and his boot clad feet could be heard dragging against the library floor all the way from the kitchen. His usually well kept hair lost its style days ago, instead now poking out every which way from atop his drooping head. 

Sam’s finger trailed over the faded Latin text lazily. His eyes were hazy and unfocused, squinting and squeezing shut every few seconds as if to clear the film of exhaustion away. One hand rested against his forehead, arm crooked at the elbow and leaning on the table to hold his head up. You watched in frustration as his eyes drifted closed every few minutes before snapping back open with a start. You turned your attention to the older of the brothers to find that he, too, had a scowl forming on his lips at the sight. This was how you knew that it was surely getting bad; if Dean Winchester, the master of self care avoidance, was judging your self care habits, then you had a problem. Sam was to that point.

Your boyfriend’s mouth opened wide in yet another yawn, and that was the final straw that had you standing up abruptly. The distinct screech of chair legs across the bunker floor caused Sam’s head to snap upwards to look at you in confusion. You made your way over to the plaid flannel clad man in a few quick strides, stopping next to him to grab the book from his hands.

“Hey!” He cried out, his hands reaching for the tome but the rest of his body making no move to pursue it further. “I need that, I was researching!” 

You gave him a simple shake of your head as you snatched his notes from the table top as well, stuffing them into the book to mark his page before closing it and placing it on the table behind you, just out of his reach. You crossed your arms across your chest and leaned against the dark wooden surface. “No way I’m giving you that book back, Sam.”

“Well, why not? We have work to do. I can’t exactly work without that book,” he argued, arms crossing over his chest as well to mirror your stance. Your eyes rolled up at the ceiling in frustration.

“Yeah, about that. No, you’re not gonna work on this. We,” you paused to motion your hand between yourself and Dean, “are going to finish this up. Cas too. You, however, are going to get some rest. I’m sick and tired of watching you push yourself like this when you’re clearly suffering. We can handle this, I promise. Just focus on taking care of yourself.”

Your insistent tone did little to coerce the stubborn man into taking a well deserved break. His eyes flickered back and forth between you and his brother. Dean returned his gaze with a look that absolutely screamed for Sam to agree to the arrangement and get some sleep, but this, too, didn’t get through to him.

Sam shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t leave you three to work on this all alone. You guys are tired too. I’ve been doing this my whole life, I can handle it,” he insisted. He reached behind you to grab his book back, only for you to press your hand down over the cover and slide the volume across the table to Dean, who anticipated this action and caught it without glancing away from his notes. You turned back to Sam with a triumphant smile. The expression he met you with was far from impressed. 

“Seriously?” He deadpanned. You quirked a brow.

“Seriously.”

Silence settled over the library for a moment as the pair of you continued to stare each other down. No one dared to break the moment until the familiar flutter of wings interrupted your stare off. “Dean, I was wondering if you- oh,” Castiel’s deep timbre paused momentarily as his eyes settled on you and Sam, or, more particularly, Sam’s hunched over form. The seraph furrowed his brows at the sight. “Why is Sam still here?” His question was abrupt and to the point, as things usually were when coming from the angel’s mouth, but it was valid nonetheless. 

Sam threw his hands in the air in exasperation. “Seriously?” He clamored, brows knit together by an invisible thread of frustration. “Why does everyone keep insisting I shouldn’t be working? I am perfectly _fine!”_ His exclamation was punctuated quite indicatively by the all encompassing yawn his mouth formed directly after he finished speaking. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes from the reflex, and once he cleared his vision, he was met with three sets of unimpressed eyes. A scowl formed on his face, and he found himself shaking his head dismissively once again. “Whatever. That was nothing. You just got it in my head, that’s all!”

You scoffed and brought a hand down on his shoulder to gain his attention. “Babe, come on. You’re running on fumes, and you have been for a while now. We can all see that you need a break, and there’s never been a better time than now. This research isn’t time sensitive, and either way, it’s really not that much. I know that if the roles were reversed, and I was in your situation, that you wouldn’t let up until I finally gave in and took care of myself. Let me do that for you, okay?” Your hand trailed down his arm so you could give his bicep a reassuring squeeze. 

The hunter cast his eyes downwards momentarily, clearly lost in thought. Castiel’s shuffling around the room paused once he noticed the change in the atmosphere, much to your relief. Sam’s lips parted and shut repeatedly before he finally worked up the courage to speak. “Could you,” he began, pausing to cough when he realized how strained and broken his voice sounded. “Could you lay with me?” Concerned hazel eyes flickered up to peer at you through tousled strands of brown hair. His fear of impending rejection shone clear as day on his face like a bright neon sign, calling attention to the tug of his brows and the slight pout of his bottom lip like a blaring siren. 

You felt your features visibly soften at the sight of the man you loved so much in such a vulnerable state. With a small, comforting smile, you nodded your head in agreement before tugging carefully at the sleeve of his flannel shirt in an effort to coax him out of his chair. Slowly but surely, he raised to his feet and allowed you to lead him over to the old leather couch in the corner of the library. You knew he wouldn’t let you take him all the way to his room in fear of missing any big breakthroughs in the day’s research, so for the time being, the surprisingly comfortable cushions the Men of Letters left behind would have to do.

You urged him to settle down however he pleased, which in the end seemed to be with his head propped against the arm of the couch and his body lounging across its length. One of his feet sat flat on the floor while the other splayed out over the other chair arm, dangling precariously in the air. Once he got everything to his liking, he turned his exhaustion laden eyes to you to peer at you through heavy lids. He reached his arms out and made grabby hands in your direction like a child would to his favorite stuffed animal, causing you to chuckle. The sound put a lopsided grin on the hunter’s face.

“C’mere,” he insisted, keeping his arms outstretched towards you.

You shook your head with a smile. “I don’t think we’re both gonna fit on that couch, big guy.”

“Trust me,” he coaxed. “I got it, just c’mere.”

You took a tentative step towards him and placed yourself within arm’s reach of the man. In an instant, he pulled you towards him at the waist and maneuvered your body so that you were laying on top of him. Your head rested comfortably on his chest just over his heart. One of his arms wrapped around your waist while his other hand buried itself in the hair at the back of your head, serving to hold your head in place as well as trace lazy circles on your scalp. Your legs tangled together and the smell of Sam’s favorite body wash and shampoo combination curled around you like a warm blanket.

His chest rose and fell with each steady breath he took, the motions serving to lull you into a restful state alongside the ever comforting beating of his heart beneath your ear. You were vaguely aware of Dean’s continued research endeavours in the background. The clack of keyboard keys and the turning of old book pages registered only as well as the soft flutter of wings that arose every so often as Castiel popped in and out of the library in search of the information he required. In all truth, none of that really mattered to you when you were curled up in Sam’s arms.

Slowly but surely, Sam’s movements began to slow. The circles his finger tips traced over your skin became sloppier and sloppier until they finally ceased altogether. His breathing evened out and his whole form relaxed with well needed rest. Only once you were sure he was asleep did you risk a glance up at him.

His grip on your waist tightened with your movements, only causing you to smile and slow your motions enough that his brain wouldn’t register them. You peeked up at his sleeping face, a lazy grin on your features at the sight. He looked so much… younger like this. His skin was smooth and free of any worry lines from the day to day stressors. His eyelashes shadowed over his cheekbones, leading your eyes down to his relaxed jawline and the small pout tugging at his slightly parted lips. His hair was as wild as ever, but you knew that as soon as he woke up he would run a single hand through it and manage to look utterly flawless, which you always found infuriating. Then he would look at you with a sleepy, lopsided smile and rub at one eye with the heel of his hand, greeting you with his gravelly morning voice, and you would realize you couldn’t stay mad at him for very long. It was an endless cycle, and you were prepared to go through it every single day if he would allow you.

You turned your eyes to Dean, who sat in the same place he had been all day, laptop opened in front of him, face illuminated by the blue tinted glow. Only now, the corners of his lips were tugging upwards in a ghost of a smile. His own emerald gaze flickered upwards to peer at you over the top of his screen, green hued eyes softening as a genuine smile broke out on his face.

_“Thank you,”_ he mouthed to you in earnest.

_“Always,”_ came your reply.

And with that, you rested your head on Sam’s chest once again, and allowed his heartbeat to lull you into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
